Control
by Piko Niko
Summary: A new girl comes to Bloors. To Charlie, it seems that she is highly valued, particularly by Manfred Bloor. But what exactly can she do? Please review, I really want some feedback! Thank you in advance! BTW, would someone please review? I really want to get better. If you review my story, I swear I'll review yours.
1. Chapter 1

**Vital Info:**** This is a highly controversial story and I really do not want to offend anyone. She may act as if she is crazy and sadistic in the start, and she is, but only for the first few pages I swear. Yes, I basically focused this story on someone who will not appeal to every reader. In addition, it's from her point of view, which by now is a bit off, so bear with the confusing parts. If I offend, please write in the reviews what I have offended them in so I can fix it. If you're really unhappy, just tell me and I'll take the story off. This story is in a sort of made-up time when Zelda didn't leave, but Beth and Bindi did and there's both Tilpin and Brankos, but Endless didn't come yet. There are explanations for all the confusing parts on the bottom. **

A step, a simple step. One brief moment and the distance between them shrunk. Step: the doctor. Step: the police. Step: the home for 'mentally unstable' children. Step: the graves. Step: death. Step: the psychologist. Step: the open window. Step: the chase. His walking held a strangely musical rhythm. Doctor. Police. Home. Grave. Death. Psychologist. Window. Chase. Death. Home. Chase. Window. Police. Grave. Doctor. Psychologist. It all became a jumble. Home. Death. Window. Death. Grave. Death. Doctor. Death. Chase. Death. Death. Death. _God dammit, can't I think of anything else?_

As the space decreased, her twisted mind raced more and more. Breathing heavily, she sought comfort in looking down at the dark, melancholy slate. An abandoned factory – what an ideal place to corner her. Only one locked door on the other side of the room, no windows. If he caught her, she would return to it all. The solitary confinement, the oppression, the psychiatrists. No, it was better if she finished what she started - death.

The tall, Mediterranean man seemed to have purposely slowed down, as if to elongate the moment. The moment he wanted to claim as his victory. One polished shoe came down, imbibing flecks of dust into the marble floor which was as smooth as her now tattered, little blue dress had been only two days ago. His steps made a clacking sound as he did so, much like that of falling rain.

He seemed oddly careless. She picked it up from the way his brow remained unfurrowed. The way he looked at her evenly while he was advancing. It was surprising that he did that – none of the other staff ever did. _As if that ever helped them. As if they wouldn't look at her if she commanded them to. As if she needed eye contact to get the nurse to give her the key in the first place._ _This is why you don't lock up someone who's endowed._ Admittedly, it was her other power which had caused most of the damage. . .

She wondered he saw in her? A small, malnourished, ignorant child, who's eyes were a little too big, a little too black, and a little too shiny? The girl who didn't flinch when she had ripped a plugged-in cable apart to see what was inside, treating the lightning which surged through her as a welcome thing? Or, maybe he thought that an ignorant freak, no matter how bloodstained their past had been, could be beaten with Calculus and AP English courses?

With his eloquent speech, impeccable manners, and electroshock therapy – it made her want to spit curses in his direction along with several vexes. She probably would have given in to the temptation, if she wasn't utterly dehydrated.

Her throat felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper over it, while her swollen tongue couldn't form words if her life had depended on it. If she had been more sensible, the girl would have stopped to think what her next move would be. She would escape, she'd make sure of it. But to where? Who wouldn't be suspicious if they saw a nine year old child wearing what by now had become little less than a rag which half-clung to her bare body along with what looked like it had originally been designed as a single shoe and hair which looked like it served double duty as a bird's nest? Who wouldn't reach for the nearest weapon when they saw someone desolately walking through the streets with enough blood on them to look like they had been the epicenter of WWII and holding a knife which looked sharp enough to cut a hair sideways? Adding in her eyes (people said they were the color of coal, but she preferred obsidian) and attraction to electricity, people were bound to notice something out of the ordinary. Besides, it wasn't as if they weren't warned by a prior source beforehand.

Every newspaper, every magazine, every spare bit of space in the cities had her bloodied face on it along with a lengthy warning about her and a worthwhile sum of money for her capture. Someone had even taken the care to post them on the tree trunks surrounding every low-down village supply store and clear river for miles around her. To look for an unknowing store would be pointless; to attempt to steal anything from one was suicide.

It was bad enough that every square mile of forest contained at least four search parties, two greedy townspeople, and a reported to boot. They swarmed the woods like ants would swarm around an injured bee before closing in for the kill. There hadn't been a single rock that had been left unturned. Or a single branch had been left unsnapped. Every blade of grass had been thoroughly sniffed through by scent hounds. And every body of water was being dutifully patrolled.

She dimly remembered a clip from a book she had read. _"The human body is known to live up to three days without water and three weeks without food." _

How long had it been?

She mused, _I left this morning. Hid for half a day in the trees before running about 20 miles. Then I spent at least 20 hours in this building._ She felt weird, almost dizzy. Rubbing her temples, the girl continued thinking. _I saw the sun about seven times during my departure. ._ Was she sure it had been seven times. _Yes,_ she consoled herself, she was sure. In fact, she could even recall every time it had happened. _There was that time on the roof of the orphanage I had escaped. It was right after I ran 20 miles through the darkness after I had escaped it in the first place. Next, there was the time when I saw it through the trees on the boat I had floated in for a week in the ocean. _She thought it was the ocean. There was water and land, what else could it have been? Several other times dimly resurface in her head, including the time in Africa and a long hike through a forest. _I saw stars twice as well. _That, as she saw it, proved that she had spent around two nights and seven days away from the orphanage. And since seven wasn't three, she sighed in relief. Death, it seemed, with all its tricks and deceptions, would not pull her in yet.

The man lifted his second foot with great difficulty, moaning slightly and grimacing as he did so. This time it left not only dust, but blood. _So I didn't miss with the gun._ A small flicker of satisfaction, a brief smirk, passed across her face. Given the conditions, it didn't last very long. In a mere amount of seconds, she had retracted once more into her typical emotionless state. But the weapon now lay at least twenty feet away from her, and try as she might, there was no way she could reach it. How many steps separated them now? - Twenty, twenty-one?

Limping slightly, the leg came down once more. The same metallic click resounded, for what seemed like an eternity. _Nineteen steps left. That would be ninety five percent._

The psychiatrists had thought her ignorant. "_. . . We left books, hoping it would prompt her to talk, but she disregarded them . . . never shows interest in words . . . nor wanted to learn math . . . mentally disabled . . . autism. . . ignorant without help. If only we had taken her from her parents earlier – maybe then there would have been hope. "_

_What about my medical files which I hid? And those notes from the speech therapist – they didn't walk off on their own. _No, they had assumed she was too stupid; they had called her 'mental'. A stereotype and a false one at that. But, that didn't matter now. They had paid, every one of them. Every limb, every bone crushed, until the last one had ceased to draw breath. Forever trapped under the ashes, they wouldn't even have a proper burial.

She was glad she wasn't addle minded. Even in times like these, she still had enough brain left to figure out her surroundings and what was going on around her. At this moment, she clearly saw that there was a man advancing on her. It really had been smart of him to corner her in a schoolhouse. Funny, she almost felt like saying "factory" for a second. Maybe the water loss really had begun to wear on her. She almost laughed at her stupidity. _It takes three years to die without water. You read that in a book, remember?_ At least she wasn't crazy enough to forget that four months, the time she had gone without provisions, still gave her several weeks to find a source of water before she "kicked the bucket," as her orphanage friends used to say.

Another clack brought her away from her thoughts. _Ninety percent. He only need to get to ten percent to reach me, so eighty-nine percent. Or should it have been eighty? _The pale girl resurfaced into her fantasies as the looming man drew nearer. The corner of his mouth was drawn up in a grimace which widened every time he stepped on his lame leg. But his eyes, they sparked with victory. Her defeat, his dominion, or so he thought. Clack: eighty-three/ seventy-five. Click: seventy-seven, seventy. Death. Clack: Seve – Death. Click: Death. Death. Death. Death.

The sheer pressure of the word left her breathless. It was a word, a simple word – a mixture of vocal noises, nothing more, but it weighed her mind deown. She wasn't made stone – every death was like a missile colliding into a wall. With every hole, every empty gap, a bit of her reason seemed to leave. The wall was strong, but not indomitable. It was upright now, but it wouldn't be long until it crashed, bringing her down with it.

She pondered if she had gone insane. In truth, the two years in solitary confinement had most definitely taken a toll on her mind mentally, albeit, she had been in a coma for the vast majority of it. But no, as a final decision, she decided that she was not completely 'out there.' Slightly masochistic? – Yes. A tad bit traumatized? – Yes, as well. A sadistic, ruthless killer? – On occasion. Mentally imbalanced? – Perhaps. But insane? – Definitely not. _I'm broken, shattered, void of all rational thought, and I don't even mind. Nothing goes through my head without being forever lost in the endless abyss, that being my mind._ It was all twisted in there. Twisted, and deranged far beyond any comprehension. Every move, every word, every action was trapped inside her head until the voices in there screamed them back at her. But then, it came back demented, with the meaning long forgotten, a mere slur of human-like sounds. She didn't understand what had happened from two days before onwards, and she didn't try to comprehend. It was as if the girl treaded in an imaginary desert. Stumbling on without cause nor reason, time itself seemed to be frozen. The only things which seemed real were the mirages.

The man continued advancing on her, but this time, she couldn't even see the school. Instead, she saw a field of black, with gray-ish shapes in the background. But she still saw him, and that was what mattered.

It amused the girl slightly that she could perceive certain things but not others. It was like her mind was a frayed net – the kind that fishermen used to bring in the day's supply of minnows, or other tasty, small morsels. With its frayed edges and glaring holes, it drew a firm line between what stayed in and what fell out into the corrupted, mixed jumble of a sea where it was soon swept away by the current.

He had to die. Her enormous eyes perceived his mouth moving, forming words. But that all didn't matter, she had made her choice, already decided upon his fate. Anything he said wasn't part of the mirage.

Triumphantly, he reached out to grab her, finally showing his triumph. He held out her hand as if in open gesture of subordination. They linked, she felt him flinch slightly at the coldness of her skin, and for a half-second, his face seemed to gloat, happy that he could 'save' one more soul from eternal damnation.

_He thinks I have surrendered,_ _that I have played all of my cards__. _But that was not to happen. The man screamed bloody murder, his silly grin frozen on his face. Over two hundred volts went through the two of them._ Surprised, are you?_ A second passed. Then, his heavy frame collapsed.

Stepping over her victim, the girl reached out one delicate hand to feel his pulse. The white porcelain skin stood out strangely against the doctor's olive tan.

He was not dead, but it was only a matter of seconds; nothing could save him now.

Without warning, he caught her floating arm in mid-air, the real one, not the bionic one, for mechanical things had always put him on edge. Drawing his last breath, he muttered his final words.

She heard the noise, but could not understand what he had said.

With that, the man passed on, leaving Nepenthe to somewhat guiltily arrange any burial means. If she had known any biblical passages, she would have recited them. Or rather, if she could talk. Seeing how she couldn't do either, the girl satisfied herself with cutting open her finger and painting out a scarlet cross on the floor.

**Do you think that it's better than the first version? Please review. Thank you in advance. **


	2. Chapter 2

**In this Chapter, the girl goes insane (even more so than in the first chapter). I know that I didn't make this clear, but the first chapter she is in an abandoned factory, but she later starts hallucinating of being in a desert which has rivers and the Empire State Building . . . She completely loses her judgement. She later has visions of people grabbing her so she "continued slashing at them, until their blood flew".** **That is actually her blood, but she thinks its theirs. In effect, she almost kills herself out of insanity. She later begins coughing up blood. **

Death. Death. Death. Every drop of blood flowing from her finger evoked the same word. Drop one: death. Drop two: death. Drop three: death. With every death came the same sick and twisted feeling; she had killed – again. But she didn't feel remorse. Rather she didn't feel anything. Her brain was numbed, but deep inside, something was stirring – the beast within waiting to break free.

It didn't make sense, didn't make sense in her mind. Only a few minutes ago this man, this totalitarian doctor, had been alive. For two years she had been terrorized by him. With every crimson tear she shed while escaping. Every shard of his reign which had embedded itself into her body as her fragile frame broke through the window in her void room. Every scream which never left her lips, every mute revolt, it was all to end his dictatorship over him. Three minutes ago, all those reasons were fresh in her mind. But a sheer few moments later, all of that crashed, incinerated upon the blood-stained floor as he fell. To have all her struggles end in a second, she couldn't take it. Her heart couldn't take it. Her mind couldn't take it. No, it couldn't, it couldn't, death, death, death.

Her brain, like fragile porcelain, could stand it no longer. Shattering under impact, the monster took control.

The last weeks overtook her. She had killed again and was now going to be in another mental ward – why hadn't she realized how funny that was until now?

_Death_ her mind managed to choke out, as she laughed hysterically, falling on the floor. Blood sprayed in all directions, but that only made her laugh more.

Was it just her, or were the ceilings falling down?

She wasn't laughing anymore. Shrieking, she pounded the floor, in vain hopes of running away from the crashing heavens.

Dimly, she could make out people moving towards her, dressed in the strangest garb. One man was in a dress while the women were without shirts. But it was their faces which drew her attention the most. Some had three eyes, others four. And yet others were blind, madly groping in her direction.

Letting out a blood curling scream, she stood up and began running. If only she could make it to the other side of the desert, then she could hide in the river or maybe behind the Empire State Building. _How far away is it from me? – 50 feet maybe? That would be roughly 2 miles, wouldn't it? _

The people were reaching her now, grabbing at her, pulling her down. Flailing out, she hit them wildly.

Her arms, her stomach, even her legs – they grabbed onto everything. Writhing from their touches, she continued slashing and backing away. But it was no use, there were too many of them. _Their hands, kill their hands. Use what you have. The knife, the knife! _

Remembering her weapon, she grabbed it and began stabbing them in all directions. The three-eyed one planted a firm grasp on her free arm. Letting out a heathen wail, she brought the knife down on his hand. Immediately, a jolt of pain went through her body. Ignoring it, she continued slashing at them, until their blood flew. She cut off every free hand she could find, until exhausted, she collapsed.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is the chapter in which she almost dies. After this chapter, I promise, she will come to her senses. She also begins thinking that she is now in the ocean. She says she's drowning, but what really happened is that she punctured one of her lungs which is now clogging up with blood which she is also coughing up. I know this is random, but she's insane she bear with me. If anyone is wondering when she will enter Bloors, it will be either chapter six or seven. She will meet some other characters before then, I promise. Also, she does seem to have rapid self-healing skills as shown later. P.S. she said that she cut off every free hand. In effect, she not only cut off the hands which she hallucinated, but also one of her own. **

An unknown amount of time passed. _Where am I?_ Fluttering her eyes open, she was immediately subjected to a stream of oncoming pain. She tried to take a breath in order to scream out in shock, but couldn't – she couldn't breathe.

Everywhere, the water surrounded her, pulling her under, into the sea. _I'm drowning_. She knew it, but she could do nothing, she was powerless against the ocean tide.

Water flowed freely into her mouth, exiting with the same ease. Unable to resist, she succumbed to the water – the crimson water.


	4. Chapter 4

**That was probably one of my shortest chapters in the entire story. This is where the entire idea of Bloors Academy gets tied in. **

**In this chapter we briefly depart form the girl to go to Charlie (hence the reason why this is Charlie Bone fanfiction). I was really trying to make a contrast between the delusional, sad world of the girl and the humorous situation in which Charlie is in. This is mainly because Charlie is extremely well-humored which means that his story would always be on a more positive note. He also swears significantly more because cuss words are meant to deliver shock value for when one is angry and wants another person to be jostled into taking drastic action (speaking psychologically anyways). Hence, another person, say Lysander, will swear less given that he is more composed by nature. Don't even get me started about some of the things Tancred will be saying. . . This is also the reason why the girl doesn't speak because she doesn't need that shock value to carry out what she wants. She's used to fighting for her needs. In her world, words are unnecessary. His aunts mostly act as if they want to incense him. I want to show how much they think a failure of him, but that will probably be later on in the story. Applying some psychology, he is a boy which means that he will show his feelings through actions more than through talk. The girls in this story, on the other hand, are more verbal with vivid facial expressions and the like (except for the new girl who is pretty blank, but occasionally, even she gives away her feelings). **

"Charlie!" A boy of about twelve years old ran out of bed. "I'm coming!" He was of average size with a neutral completion and brown hair which, for some reason, was unnaturally tangled today. _Like a frickin' hedge. Where the heck did the comb go? _An average bystander would consider this to be a regular schoolboy getting ready for a regular school day. In reality, it was neither of the two.

Firstly, Charlie Bone could scarcely be considered normal with his uncanny ability which emerged a few days before his friend's eleventh birthday. By now, he had grown used to hearing snippets of conversations as he passed by posters or flipped through a photo album. In fact, he had (for the most part, anyways) gained full control of his endowment.

However, Bloor's Academy was about as unnatural as it got! A minute didn't pass without some sort of trouble. Not to mention, the Bloor's themselves were plenty strange. . .

Pulling on a sock, Charlie simultaneously checked himself in the mirror. For a Monday, he had dressed pretty well – inside-out shirt and only one hole in the knee of his pants. But, damn! – Where did the second sock go!

After half-heartedly searching, Charlie gave up and pulled on a spare purple one. If only his endowment was one which created objects out of thin air!

He sighed; Grandma Yewbeam would no doubt give him a verbal thrashing for it. But what was he to do? Deciding to gamble his luck, Charlie headed downstairs, reversed shirt and all.

Thankfully, Griselda hadn't woken up yet. Deciding that the gods had decided to spare him, Charlie sat down for a hasty meal.

Breakfast was the usual: cereal, and by the looks of it the low quality type. It was one of those fiber-full, sugar-less boxes - the sort that middle aged women bought to stay 'heart-healthy' or whatever else all adults seemed to be interested in. Personally, Charlie didn't give a second thought for what went in his mouth.

He had been eating more than ever, and yet, his clothes only seemed looser. Was that possibly because of his endowment? Was it possible that an endowment needed to eat too? He shuddered – that made it seem too human, and he didn't fancy the idea of sharing a body with another and more capable opponent.

"What are you – blind, boy? Can't you tell colors apart? And look at that shirt! – You are fit for swine!"

"Morning, grandma," mumbled Charlie, putting a spoonful into his mouth. "When children were my age, they minded much more!" the woman began.

Charlie was about to remind her that when most children became her age, they were dead, but another, even less welcome voice, interrupted, "I know children younger than you who mind more!"

_Younger than Griselda?_ Charlie got the weird feeling that he had somehow misunderstood a part of this conversation . . .

He gave with a start. What were his aunts doing here! Being simple-minded, he spoke his thoughts aloud, "What are you doing here?"

"Rude as always, I see," Venetia slyly replied. The edge of her grey coat was specked with dark, maroon spots. What was that – blood? Her normally pinned up hair was loosely hanging. Not to mention the condition in which her other sisters were in.

Eustacia was wearing an extremely fancy underneath underneath a plain grey shirt, creating the impression that whatever had happened to her dress was so terrible that she had to throw on the most unlovely garb she could find.

Lucretia was missing one glove, and this time, Charlie could definitely discern blood under her carefully – manicured fingernails which were now shaking in the direction of his mother who had just walked in.

"A pity you were cursed with such a burden Amy, although one can see where the flaws came from," she commented at his mother who had just come in.

"What are you doing - ," she began, feigning dis-interest in their previous derogatory statement.

Abruptly cutting her off, Venetia snapped "Urgent, there's a new student at Bloors – lots of planning to be made. Particularly that concerning their endowment"

The air suddenly grew very tense as everyone paused to fully register her statement.

_A student, endowed. Holy s-! What can they do, who's side are they on?_

"What could they do? Who's side are they on? "

"Can, you insolent boy!" The scarlet fingers were now on Charlie's shoulder, shaking him to add meaning to their owner's words.

"Don't get angry, Lucretia, can't you see he's just curious?" The sly one, Venetia, remarked, her voice laced with sarcastic sympathy.

"Aww, is he?" Clearly, his grandmother had decided to play along.

Leaning over until their noses almost touched, Eustacia whispered, "Well he'll just have to wait." And in a louder tone, "We've wasted enough time on him, let's go."

Strutting out with her sisters at her heels, she made sure to elbow Charlie in the process. Groaning, he rubbed the painful rib which her sharp elbow had come in contact with.

_I'll hit back one day, I swear. _Charlie fancied that, his aunt on the floor, writhing in pain, as he stood above her, victorious. _But that's never to happen_.

As fast as the daydream had come, it left him again. What could he do against their malevolent plotting? At the very least, he could keep himself from being swept into it, but that usually was the very opposite of what happened.

Charlie spoke out loud, "I wish they could all go to hell!"

The kitchen, clearly out of sympathy, chose to remain silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**This is more of the Charlie part. So, no worries, nothing too depressive. **

Charlie's breath seemed to be the only thing that radiated warmth. The ice, smooth as the surface of a well-polished rock, coated every inch of the driveway. Such was the danger posed by it that even the most reckless drivers thought twice before driving out to work. _At this rate, we might as well all skate to school_, thought Charlie, bitterly pacing back and forth. The bus was more than twenty minutes late by now. After several cars wildly skid by, splashing him with the dirty residue of what appeared to be mud and part of last night's snow, he gave up on the thought of it ever arriving.

_Maybe, just maybe, school had been cancelled for the day, _he mused. That brief glimpse of hope was soon crushed. The only time Bloors Academy had been let out in the past year had been when Manfred had one of his historical fits. It took three days to repair all the damage and another two on top of that for the headmaster to allow his son out of his room. _Teen hormones, _thought Charlie, grinning to himself. He had personally always favored the idea that Manfred had been dropped on his head as a baby.

Yet another torrent of dirty water splashed onto him, pulling him back into reality; a reality where school commenced through snowstorms and drivers couldn't care less for his new white shirt, which was a rather unappealing shade of grey by now. He looked up, prepared to douse the driver with several colorful sentences. His clenched fist dropped meekly as he realized that he had almost insulted his bus driver.

Sheepishly, the picked up his almost drenched bags, made a half-hearted attempt to wrench out his shirt, and climbed up the steps, thoroughly dejected. The one good thing about the school buses, and school for that matter, he thought, was that he could meet his friends. He wondered where they had been over the summer break.

Then another thought hit him: what had the Bloors been doing? Throughout the entire three months, he hadn't heard a snippet of news about anything unusual that could have been traced back to him. He sincerely doubted they had spent the entire break cooped up inside the Academy. More likely, they had been out of the country, causing mayhem for another city. Charlie hoped from the bottom of his heart that whatever they did wouldn't come to affect him or anyone else.

"He-y."

Charlie practically hit the roof, before realizing that the voice belonged to Gabriel; he must have been too busy thinking to notice him get on.

Gabriel read his thought out loud. "Wow," he began "you looked pretty out of it. Whatcha thinking of?"

Charlie shrugged, feigning disinterest in the subject. "Nothing much; just, have you heard anything from the Bloors over the break?" His gaze lackadaisically shifted towards the ceiling and he forced himself to absentmindedly fiddle with his backpack straps. He didn't want Gabriel to think that he was scared by the thought that he would soon become entangled in another nasty plot. Sensing his friend's brooding suspicion, Charlie began again: "I mean," he sauntered, "it's not like I'm concerned about them, or anything. It's just that it's funny, isn't it? I half expected a building to burn down. But, man, the last three months have been so chill. D'you think they were away?"

His friend dropped himself on the seat. "Yeah, they were."

His answer was so brisk, Charlie was taken aback. "How would you know?" he said, his voice edging with anger. Why did Gabriel know something that he didn't? He hated feeling excluded. . .

His friend was shifting through numerous volumes of sheet music. The black notes stood out sharply against the white. To Gabriel, it was his lifeline and passion, but to Charlie, it was Chinese. Pausing abruptly, his friend selected a rather complicated piece and gingerly unclipped it from its encasing. Charlie grasped it. "This is it?" he breathed. "This makes you think that they're away? All I see is dots and lines!"

"Careful!" Gabriel hissed, prying the sheet from his grasp. "You almost made a tear!" Charlie unremorsefully muttered a swift apology as Gabriel attempted to straighten the crumpled sonata. Finished, he turned it over, revealing several scribbled words. Squinting under the dim lighting that the dusty windows permitted, Charlie deciphered.

Italy

Although Charlie was intrigued, he didn't want to let it show. "That doesn't mean anything," he scowled indignantly. "Maybe the song was written in Italy. Or maybe Mr. Pilgrim just likes Italy, or something. It is his writing, right?"

"Yes," Gabriel began. His tone was enough for Charlie to understand that there was more. "In May, I went to his office to ask if I could get some sheet music so I could practice over the break. So, he gave me a binder full, almost as if it were his own. So, I went home and mid-June I found this." He gulped, before continuing; "There's more too. It's just a bunch of words, it doesn't even make sense."

From the moment Gabe had said "more," Charlie had lost him. "More?!" he almost screamed. "Show me!"

To his disappointment, his friend shook his head. "We can look at this together during break."

Sighing, Charlie turned to face the mirror. His curiosity was unbounded and didn't like being shut off.

They endured the rest of the ride in silence.

**Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooh, suspense. You like? **


End file.
